


better than anything else that I've tried

by pearwaldorf



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Cleaning, Fictober 2019, Hand & Finger Kink, Ice Cream, Ineffable Inktober, Licking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 02:14:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20958764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/pseuds/pearwaldorf
Summary: The chocolate ice cream drips down onto Aziraphale’s fingers. He does not appear to notice, or ignores it. Crowley chomps down on his cone in a vain attempt at distraction.“Really darling, you don’t need to bite through everything. Savour it the way it’s meant to be enjoyed.” He puts the entire glob of ice cream in his mouth, making a happy little noise.





	better than anything else that I've tried

**Author's Note:**

> Title, of course, from [this Sarah McLachlan song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XAhv0XGv8Pc).
> 
> Other fills for Ineffable Fictober can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20865215)!

They’re in the bookshop when it happens. Suddenly there are no lights at all, which Crowley didn’t think would make a difference but they actually do.

“Go flip the sign to Closed, would you, dear? I need to go upstairs and see if anything needs rescuing from the icebox.”

“You know nobody’s called it that in about a century, right?” He calls after Aziraphale. There is no answer.

He changes the sign as bidden and goes up to the flat. Aziraphale is in the kitchen with a box of ice cream cones in front of him. He offers one to Crowley, still in the wrapper.

“This was the only truly perishable thing in the freezer. Might as well make sure they don’t go to waste.”

If Aziraphale just wants an excuse to have some ice cream, who is he to refuse? He opens the wrapper and pulls out his cone.

Aziraphale’s ice cream has been out in the heat far longer, given the way it’s rapidly losing structural integrity and threatening to spill over the sides of the cone. Also Aziraphale’s fingers. It appears he was prepared for this possibility, as he’s rolled up his shirtsleeves, exposing his forearms.

To be clear, by this time Crowley has seen vastly more of Aziraphale than his forearms. But there is always the allure of a glimpse of skin, the way suggestion and insinuation is always more powerful than showing the thing outright. 

The chocolate ice cream drips down onto Aziraphale’s fingers. He does not appear to notice, or ignores it. Crowley chomps down on his cone in a vain attempt at distraction.

“Really darling, you don’t need to bite through everything. Savour it the way it’s meant to be enjoyed.” He puts the entire glob of ice cream in his mouth, making a happy little noise. 

Despite having known Aziraphale for as long as he has, Crowley has never been able to figure out if it’s an affectation or an honest reaction to something pleasurable. The noises he makes in bed are not dissimilar, if a bit more intense. Ultimately, Crowley decides, it doesn’t matter because it drives him to distraction regardless.

Aziraphale has eaten about half the cone, and the ice cream has given up any pretense of being frozen. A line of melted liquid makes its way down the inner part of his forearm, dark against his pale skin.

Crowley can’t take any more. He plucks the remainder of the cone from Aziraphale’s hand, replacing it with his mouth. He closes his lips around Aziraphale’s index finger, taking it in to where it joins his palm. He runs his tongue down the length of it, licking until all he tastes is salt and skin. He pulls off Aziraphale’s finger with an exaggerated, showy noise, licking his lips.

Aziraphale is flushed with arousal, but not exactly surprised at Crowley’s attentions.

“Want me to keep doing that, angel?”

“Yes, darling, please.” His eyes are dark now, and he practically breathes the last word, like it’s all the air he can muster in his current state. Now that goes straight to Crowley’s dick, but there’s time for that later.

He cleans off Aziraphale’s other fingers and thumb, then the back of his hand. He traces his tongue along the lines of his angel’s palm, slowly, thoroughly, until he’s certain he got everything. 

Crowley mouths at the tender skin at Aziraphale’s wrist: no tongue, just soft, lingering kisses that make Aziraphale inhale sharply, like he’s trying to not give Crowley the satisfaction of hearing what this does to him. He grazes his teeth at the spot where he can feel Aziraphale’s pulse jump, and a little noise escapes him, low and needy. 

He moves on to the dark line of sweetness that streaks Aziraphale’s forearm, lapping it meticulously clean. He’s about halfway done when Aziraphale pulls away. 

“I think the bedroom might be a more appropriate place if you’d like to continue these activities.” He’s trying his best to sound composed, and failing miserably. 

“Lead the way, angel.” 

He gets up to head towards the bedroom, but stops and looks over his shoulder. “Bring the rest of the ice cream, if you like.” 

Crowley grabs the box. “Would be a pity to let it all go to waste.”


End file.
